Something Like Thunder (5 page)

“You’re going to love this one,” Rebecca said. “Wait till you see how many baby-faced celebrities are in it. Talk about humble beginnings.”

He turned his attention to the screen and soon felt less relaxed. The film quality appeared more seventies than eighties, a low-budget high school movie. Young actors gave stiff performances, many of them big names who now probably hoped this film would remain forgotten. He pretended to laugh along with Rebecca at certain points, but the subject matter made him uncomfortable. A geeky guy got bullied until the day he enlisted the help of a gentle giant. His own personal hero. The fantasy was nice, but the lofty tone of the movie only made his own life seem that much darker.

His palms were sweaty by the time the credits rolled. Rebecca released his hand so she could wipe her own on the bedspread. “Movie get you all hot and bothered? Who do you like better, Clifford or Linderman?”

“Huh?”

“Who do you think is cuter?”

He shrugged.

“Neither of them? Just think how manly Adam Baldwin grows up to be!” She shook her head, as if he were hopeless. “At least tell me you found Matt Dillon attractive. I know he’s a jerk in this, but come on!”

“I love him in
Drugstore Cowboy
,” Nathaniel replied.

“But in this movie, no one caught your eye?”

“You and Joan Cusack sort of look alike. I’ve never noticed that before.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Rebecca got up to eject the DVD and put it back in the case. She kept her head down, seeming to stare at the cover. When she looked back up, her expression was vulnerable. “You don’t notice guys very much, so maybe…” She exhaled and turned off the television. After more hesitation, she returned to the bed and sat cross-legged, facing him but keeping her attention on the comforter, where a little girl harvested strawberries with her pink kitten. The image seemed too innocent to belong to the modern era, making him long for a time he wasn’t sure ever really existed. “I was reading online about how most guys mess around with other guys, especially when they’re younger. Hormones or something, but I guess it can be confusing to them. Like they might think they’re gay—”

“Rebecca,” he interrupted. “Trust me, I know what I want.”

She looked up, her eyes searching. “Maybe you don’t. Maybe you just need to try something different. Then you could decide for sure.”

He finally understood what she was attempting to say, but tried his hardest to pretend he didn’t. Acknowledging the truth would only ruin their friendship, make the closeness they enjoyed feel awkward instead of endearing. She had feelings for him. That wasn’t a complete secret, but he never dwelled on it because for him it was impossible. It would never happen. He thought she understood that.

“Maybe something’s wrong with me,” he said, standing to put distance between them. “You’re right. I don’t notice guys. At least not very much.” His former magazine hero was the exception, but most of that had been about wanting to be saved. “Maybe it’s all this stuff with my brother. If I’m not busy with work or school, I’m waiting for the next bad thing to happen.”

“Hypervigilance,” Rebecca said with a sigh.

“What?”

“It’s a condition the body goes into when threatened. A sort of non-stop fight-or-flight reaction. Your body is in a constant state of hyperarousal. And no, that’s not as sexy as it sounds. This has an effect on your mind too. You’re unable to focus on more normal things, like who you find attractive, because your system is constantly on alert for the next time Dwight jumps you.”

He looked back at her. “I don’t notice guys often, but I never notice girls. If I did, you’d be my type. You’re pretty, but it’s your brain that really makes you sexy. If I could find a guy as smart as you, I’d be all over him.”

Rebecca didn’t swoon. Instead she seemed frustrated, which he supposed he could understand. “It would be nice if you weren’t the only guy in the world who felt that way.”

“There’s someone out there for you,” he said. “Wait and see.”

She didn’t look convinced. Maybe that’s why she changed the subject. “You can’t keep going on this way. Diminished sex drive, strain to your heart… You’ll probably start losing your hair next. Bald at seventeen. How would you like that?”

“Are you serious?”

“Not about the hair loss. But I’m totally serious about Dwight. Tell your parents or lure him out into the street at night so I can run him over. And then back over him. Then I’ll run over him again.”

Nathaniel smiled at the idea, but his expression became more reserved. She was right. Something had to change. And soon.

* * * * *

Nathaniel stood in front of a large two-story house in a neighborhood that could best be described as affluent. He considered his own parents to be well-off; the homes they had owned over the years often had an extra room or two that wasn’t needed as a bedroom. He thought that seemed grand enough, so as he peeked through the etched glass window on one side of the door, he tried to imagine why any single family would need so much space.

Mr. Hubbard must be upper-management, not middle. The business card hadn’t provided any clues as to his position. It just listed a company name, a stylish logo, a phone number, and the name “Todd Hubbard” emblazoned in gold letters. Nathaniel had called to say he was interested in the offer. Mr. Hubbard had then jokingly suggested that Nathaniel come in for a job interview. At least he thought it was a joke. Mr. Hubbard had chuckled, but maybe he wasn’t fooling around. Unsure of what to expect, he steeled himself and rang the bell. The door swung open, and an older woman with a shrewd face looked him over before smiling. “You must be Nathaniel,” she said, stepping aside so he could enter. She offered her hand, but not her name. “I’m Caesar’s mother.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “And there’s the man of the hour,” he added, when Caesar tromped down the stairs.

“Hey.” Caesar still looked embarrassed by all of this.

Nathaniel offered a sympathetic expression. “Should we get started?”

“Actually,” Mrs. Hubbard said, “I believe my husband wanted to speak with you first. He’s in his office. This way, please.”

Caesar shrugged helplessly, but didn’t follow. Nathaniel felt stiff-legged as Mrs. Hubbard led him down a hall. This
had
to be a job interview. He should have brought his résumé! Not that he had one, but now he wished he did. Instead he was woefully unprepared.

Mrs. Hubbard knocked on a closed door. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No,” he answered. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Good luck!”

She pushed the door open, then turned and headed back down the hall. Nathaniel took a deep breath and stepped into the room, only getting a brief impression of his surroundings: bookcases and office furniture made of dark wood, mounted antlers behind a large desk, framed degrees, and a fishing trophy. He tore his eyes away from all of this and focused on Mr. Hubbard, who had stood and walked around his desk to greet him.

“So good of you to come!” he said as they shook hands. “Please, have a seat.”

Nathaniel nodded numbly and sat. Then he flipped that inner switch, the one he always used when emotions became a hindrance, when he needed to forget about Dwight for a while. Now was not the time to be nervous. In fact, he could imagine Mr. Hubbard responding well to a little reckless confidence.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Nathaniel said. “You have a very nice home, but I was under the impression that Caesar needed study help. Not you.”

Mr. Hubbard raised his eyebrows. Then he laughed, that same amused chuckle that had followed his mention of a job interview. “I was hoping we could get to know each other better. Then I’ll set you loose on the boy.”

“Sure,” Nathaniel said easily. “What would you like to know?”

“Are you from around here? I thought I heard a Midwestern accent.”

“Is there such a thing?”

“Well, I haven’t heard a single ’y’all’ out of you. Of course I don’t say it now, but that was a habit I broke for the sake of my business. I try to make sure my family doesn’t say it either.” Mr. Hubbard sniffed and leaned back. “I’m pretty sure I heard a ‘ta’ instead of a ‘to’ when we talked on the phone. I’m going
ta
the store…”

“…
fur
some eggs and bacon.” Nathaniel grinned. “Blame my parents. My mom is from Missouri, my dad from Kansas. I haven’t lived either place, but listening to them while growing up must have corrupted me. Worried I’ll pass that along to Caesar?”

“Not at all,” Mr. Hubbard said, smiling at his humor. “So you’re a Texan?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Born in Kansas City, but I spent most of my life on the West Coast. California feels the most like home, although we tend to move every few years.”

“How do you like it here?”

“It’s nice,” he said. “I miss the beaches. And the ocean.”

“The Gulf of Mexico doesn’t count?”

Nathaniel grinned. “It’s not quite the same. That’s all right. I was never any good at surfing.”

“Do you play any sports?”

“Nope.”

Mr. Hubbard’s attention darted down to his body, but not with much interest. “You must stay active.”

“I try.”

“You like fishing?”

Nathaniel’s eyes went to the large fish mounted on the wall. “I’m going to say yes, but only because I want this job.”

Mr. Hubbard chuckled again. “The job is yours. I’m impressed with your work ethic. The manager at the learning center had nothing but praise for you. Are you saving up for anything in particular? A college fund, perhaps?”

“I’m lucky enough to already have one, thanks to my parents, but I’m hoping to get into a good law school, so—”

Mr. Hubbard appeared impressed. “Any school in particular?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“I was hoping you’d say Yale.”

“They’ve got my application.”

“Do they?” Mr. Hubbard beamed at him. “I graduated from there in—well, no sense in giving away my age. Sorry, I interrupted you.”

“I started tutoring because I thought it would look good on my application.”

“So would a glowing reference. I have contacts at quite a few law schools. Including Yale. I’m sure I could help you.”

Nathaniel opened and closed his mouth, but it took a few tries before a sound came out. “Seriously?”

“It’s certainly possible.” Mr. Hubbard leaned forward. “Listen, the reason I’m giving you the third degree is because I’m looking for more than just a tutor for my son. My business demands a lot from me, especially time. Occasionally I have to travel, and when I’m in Houston, I put in long hours. I’m providing for my family, but I’m concerned that Caesar doesn’t always get the guidance he needs. Even when I’m home, I worry he might not turn to me if he needed advice about girls or such things. I expect him to provide that guidance for the other kids living here, to be a big brother, but he doesn’t take much interest in that role. Then it occurred to me that maybe he needs his own role model.”

Nathaniel took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I’m qualified.”

Mr. Hubbard waved a hand dismissively. “You’re humble, and that’s admirable. I understand it’s a lot to take on. I probably should have let things develop naturally, but I’ve always believed in being upfront. Just go about your tutoring duties as you normally would, but also don’t hesitate to reach out to him on a more personal level.”

“Okay,” Nathaniel said.

“I’ll stop yammering and let you get to work.” Mr. Hubbard stood. Nathaniel did the same. “One more thing. Is that a bruise on your cheek?”

Nathaniel felt like groaning. The bruise had faded to an ugly yellow and wasn’t nearly as visible now. He had hoped it would go unnoticed. “Yeah.”

“Get into a fight?”

“Not really,” he said.

“An accident?”

Nathaniel meant to nod, which would have dismissed the subject, but instead he found himself shaking his head. Maybe because Mr. Hubbard didn’t know his parents and wasn’t associated with the school. He didn’t have the power to make him see a counselor or anything like that. He was, in effect, a stranger. Somehow that made it easier to be honest. Besides, he seemed genuinely concerned.

“Do you feel comfortable telling me what happened?”

Nathaniel considered his answer carefully before he said it aloud. “I have a brother who gets a little rough sometimes.”

“Rough?”

“Yeah,” Nathaniel said, trying to sound casual. “We horse around. It’s no big deal. That’s just how he is.”

Mr. Hubbard didn’t appear reassured, the concern in his features deepening. “I like to think we have an open house. If you ever need to come by, even if Caesar isn’t here—even if
I’m
not here, please don’t hesitate. Or if there’s someone you want me to talk to on your behalf—”

“Thank you,” Nathaniel said, cutting him off before the offer could turn into a question. “I’ll keep that in mind. I think Caesar has some vocabulary he needs help with.”

“Of course.” Mr. Hubbard offered his hand again. “He should be in the dining room. If you don’t find him there, just keep looking until you do. As I said—open house.”